


Maketh the Man

by lastwingedthing



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/pseuds/lastwingedthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate never sees it coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maketh the Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Porn Battle, to the prompt 'surprise'. Thanks to K for looking it over and getting my rampant semi-colon abuse under control!

"Jesus fucking Christ! That's just ridiculous."

Nate looks over to the doorway, startled by the shout. Ray's sweaty from the sun outside, frayed t-shirt sticking to his chest, and he's staring at Nate. It's not a happy look; he's frowning with his eyebrows drawn together like he's honestly upset. Nate was just sitting here. He's getting his ass thoroughly kicked by this paper, but it isn't like Ray could somehow be secretly reading his mind to bitch with him about the fact that his back aches and his eyes are sore from his brand-new glasses – and isn't _that_ humiliating – and that the only relevant books for his topic have apparently gone missing from the library sometime back in the Clinton administration.

Ray's still glaring as he walks over to Nate's desk. Yeah, he's probably not here to commiserate about Nate's paper.

"Okay, _fuck_ this shit," Ray announces loudly. "I have just spent _five fucking hours_ outside – do you _know_ how hot it is? You're a rich East Coast pussy with air conditioning now, but for the common man it's like Iraq without the shamals or the arty out there. And at least ninety thousand more retards, fucking _Christ_. I would have shot myself if you limp-dicked Massachusetts liberals hadn't taken away my right to carry."

Nate blinks. "Is this actually going somewhere?"

"Fuck yes, it's going somewhere! All I wanted was a cold beer and a chance to sit down somewhere away from the stupid people, as is my right as a fucking American, but no. Dipshit officers still screwing me over."

Okay, _what_. "Ray, did you get lost on the way to the fridge? Is it sunstroke? I hate to break it to you, but the beer is still over there. I am not actually preventing you from getting any."

Ray just snorts and flicks Nate's ear, hard enough to sting a little. Ray's standing right over him now, staring fixedly at his mouth – _oh_.

Nate looks up at Ray and shakes his head, smiling a little. "Really? Is that what –" He's interrupted by Ray's mouth, pressing down hard and warm against his own. Ray only gives him a second before he's biting at Nate's lips, sliding his tongue inside. Ray's kissing him deep and wet, hungry, and Nate can't help but react; pushing up into it, cupping the back of Ray's neck and stroking over the short hair there as he sucks on Ray's tongue. They break the kiss for a moment so that Ray can get a better position, all but climbing into his lap until Nate's being straddled, the skin of Ray's thighs hot against his own even through the thick denim. Then there's warm hands sliding over his hips, pinching a nipple through the rough fabric of his shirt, and Nate surprises himself with a little moan, a soft breathy sound that makes Ray nip at his mouth in answer.

It's so good, but Nate actually does want to know what the hell Ray was complaining about. Difficult though it is, Nate manages to extract himself somehow, pulling back just enough to get his mouth free. Ray follows him, of course, pushing impatiently at his shoulders, but Nate's able to hold him back – briefly.

"Ray, not that I'm objecting or anything, but what exactly brought this on? I last blew you six hours ago, you can't possibly say that you're being deprived."

Ray stares at him, aggrieved. "You're bitching about _sex_ now? Jesus Christ, everything Colbert says about long-term relationships is actually true. What is it, dear, you've got a headache? Gotta go lie down upstairs with a cool cloth over your forehead while you jerk off to that hot young thing in the office or mortgage repayments or whatever the fuck else it is that gets overeducated Episcopalians going?"

Nate chooses to ignore this; instead he raises his eyebrows, staring directly up at Ray. This actually only works about sixty percent of the time – the man can usually withstand the _Iceman_ glaring death at him, for Christ's sake – but it's at least worth a try.

Ray stares right back at him for a long moment, but eventually he looks away, shaking his head.

"Fucking glasses, it's like an educated elitist plot to keep me brainless," he mumbles, but his heart isn't in it. He's not meeting Nate's eyes, and there's a faint pink blush on his cheeks. Nate feels an entirely inappropriate surge of lust.

"Seriously? They really do it for you?" He's trying – mostly successfully, with Ray he gets a lot of practise – not to grin.

"_Seriously_, you wanna talk about this instead of sucking my dick?"

Ray's still not meeting his eyes, but Nate takes pity on him anyway and pulls him down for another kiss. Ray's right, anyway. Mocking him would be fun, but it can wait until after the sex; if he pushes too far and Ray gets pissy, he _will_ storm off and start shooting things in a violent video game or, worse yet, spend six hours on a long-distant phone call bitching to Brad. Or both. Nate isn't ever going to cockblock himself like that again.

Instead he pulls Ray tight against him, tongue teasing at his lips, hands sliding up the back of Ray's worn, too-loose shirt, skating across sweat-slick skin. There's a thrill to this, to knowing the shape of the wiry muscles under his hands, to knowing the exact low gasping sound Ray will make with each caress. Nate slides his hands lower, down instead of up, and it's easier than it should be. Ray's jeans are too big for him. Nate realises, half irritated and half oddly pleased, that in fact they're _his_, probably stolen out of his drawer this morning when Ray realised that he hadn't put anything in the laundry basket for a week and had nothing left to wear.

Either way, it means easier access. Nate isn't going to complain. One finger, traced down the crease of Ray's ass, and the other man is bucking forward into him, moaning, biting demandingly at his lip. Sometimes Ray gets aggressive when he's turned on, biting hard, pushing Nate around until he gets what he wants; sometimes Nate likes it like that.

But sometimes what he likes even better is to push back; make it rough, match Ray bite for bite until they're fighting as much as fucking. It gets them both off, and Ray doesn't always let Nate win.

Right now Ray's mouthing at that spot on Nate's neck that always makes him shiver, soft and gentle suddenly changing to a bite, a rough scrape of teeth that makes Nate buck his hips forward and moan. Fuck all of this; Nate wants to be _naked_, wants Ray naked, wants to follow the lines of Ray's tattoos with his tongue and suck on his nipples and slide his fingers inside until Ray's spreading his legs and begging for cock.

Nate pulls back. "Get up. On the desk." His voice has gone deep and hoarse, rasping; he doesn't sound like himself. Ray just stares back at him, eyes flat and dark.

"Fucking make me. Sir."

Nate's hands tighten around Ray's hips. Ray's pinning him down, pressing him back against the chair with the weight of his own body, but Nate's got his arms free; it's not going to be enough to keep him down. Nate is still a strong motherfucker, even if he's not in the Marines anymore; they both are, but right now Nate's got the edge.

He sweeps everything off his desk with a single motion; _fuck_ his paper anyway. Ray's a heavy bastard, but not so much that Nate can't lift him as he stands, sit Ray down on the desk.

Nate stands between Ray's legs, pressed against him. It's exactly where he wants to be. And Ray's a contrary bastard sometimes; he suddenly goes limp and stops fighting and wraps his legs around Nate's waist, bucking against Nate as he moans. He's not subtle when there's something he wants.

And he's not the only one who wants it. They're getting frantic now, tugging at shirts and pulling at buttons, barely managing to break the kiss long enough to get their clothes off. Nate reaches down to the desk drawer without looking, fumbling for the lube and condom he has stashed there. Then he pauses and lets the little foil packet fall back inside, moaning just at the thought. Fucking Ray bare is still new enough to be a thrill.

Then there's slick on his hand, the familiar rhythms of it: caressing Ray's thigh before his fingers slide back and _in_. Ray's hips are working, urging Nate on.

"Christ – _Christ_ – hurry the fuck up – fucking officers can't do anything right –"

When Nate slides his fingers free Ray bucks against him again, hard, so hard the glasses slip and hang uncomfortably off his nose. Nate reaches up with his left hand to pull them out of the way but then Ray's grabbing his wrist and pushing them back into place.

"Don't you fucking _dare_."

This time Nate's not laughing. He moans, leaning forward to push inside Ray. The familiar heat, the tightness: all the sensations are increased, and it's so fucking good. Nate's never going to get enough.

Ray's meeting every thrust, rocking up against him as he digs his nails into Nate's back. At first the angle's not quite right and Nate has to lift him again, tugging him forward as Ray moans in his arms. But then he shifts and fuck, _fuck_, he's there already, pleasure starting to build as he hits the perfect angle again and again. Ray's going to give him so much shit as soon as they're done, but right now Nate doesn't care.

He throws his head back as he comes, letting himself be noisy for once; it doesn't matter if anyone hears. Hands tight around Ray's back, hips working, pleasure rushing through him; there's nothing better than this. When it ends he slumps against Ray's shoulder, feeling warm and relaxed all over.

But then Ray's shoving at his shoulder, swearing incredulously. Nate sways for a moment, but then he manages to pull himself together.

"Sorry – sorry," he pants out, and then he drops to his knees. Ray makes a choked-off noise as Nate reaches forward. Three fingers from his lube-slick hand slide deep inside as he opens his mouth for Ray's cock, feeling the wet head bump against his lips. And then Nate looks up, to where Ray's face is twisted up in pleasure, staring down at _him_. Ray's coming almost before Nate can get him into his mouth.

He pulls back after Ray's cock starts to soften, resting his head against Ray's thigh. They sit there quietly for a long moment; then Nate starts to grin again. He really can't help himself.

"_Seriously_, Ray? Am I ever going to be able to study in peace again?"

Ray punches him in the shoulder, hard enough to hurt. "Shut the fuck up and stop complaining. Jesus Christ, you'd think I just killed your puppy or something, instead of letting you fuck my ass and then –"

"Coming all over my face?"

Ray scoffs. "You loved it."

Nate briefly debates a dig about Ray's two-second blowjob, but then considering his own performance that's probably not the best path to go down. Instead he groans and gets himself up off the floor, looking around for something they can use to clean themselves up.

He raises his eyebrows at the room; he's actually pretty impressed. Everything is covered in paper, one half of Ray's shirt is draped over the lamp, and apparently not all of Nate's notes made it to safety on the floor: there's a couple of crumpled pages still on the desk, and Ray has blue ink smeared across his ass and the backs of his thighs.

Nate looks down at Ray, still perched on the desk.

"Shower?"

"Definitely shower." Nate sighs heavily, but Ray just grins at him, bright and sharp. "Like you didn't need the break. Haven't you heard, homes? Too much studying will send you blind."

All Nate can do is laugh.


End file.
